


Compliments

by epiphyllous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Chubby Reader, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Gavin Reed isn't an asshole, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Insecurity, Insults, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Connor, Slow Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, am i a poet? no but I try my best, as slow as three chapters can be, connor learning how to feel, connor's pov, protective Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiphyllous/pseuds/epiphyllous
Summary: Upon meeting you, Connor learns that he is surprisingly good at giving honest compliments, among other things.





	1. Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> is me first post on ao3!!!! time for me to contribute lmao
> 
> Super self-indulgent + therapeutic for me so this was really fun to write; hope ya’ll like it too! It’s just a lot of sweetness!!! And a lot of cutesy relationship stuff!!!!! Side note: This was actually supposed to be one part but I HAD to write a build up to the established relationship and other... things. it's shorter than most fics I see on here but I hope you like it anyways!!
> 
> Inspired by blobby-clouds tumblr post about a chubby!s/o + my suddenly realized HC that Connor can’t really give fake compliments so all his compliments are genuine and surprisingly really, really nice. Though to be honest, I don’t even get into the chubby!s/o HC until the second part.
> 
> Takes place post-pacifist ending where everyone lives + Connor becomes a police officer at DPD + Gavin with more personality than being an asshole etc + Connor lives w Hank + more I keep adding stuff lmao

The first time Connor met you, you had picked up a stray coin and asked it if it was his. He had been walking Sumo at the park nearby Hank’s apartment in the early afternoon when you passed by him, adjusting the strap on your backpack. He hadn’t expected you to pay any attention to him at all, so it had taken a moment to realize that you were talking to him. You held the quarter in between your thumb and index gently, waiting for his response with polite patience. 

Connor did not remember taking out his coin on the duration of the walk, and feeling the pocket of his khaki shorts that Hank kindly gave(forced) him to wear, he knew that the coin was still there. Conclusion: that was not his coin. 

Still, he took it anyways, giving you a lopsided smile that he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet. It was something about the way you asked him, shyly but with a touch of levity, that made him want to agree with you. Or was it the way your eyes flickered down at his body before meeting his eyes on the way back up. 

You were attracted to him, he realized, analyzing the way your pupils dilated ever so slightly and how your temperature increased ever so slightly. His LED light was still attached to the right side of his forehead, so it was evident he was an android. But still, you found him sexually appealing. 

Stumbling on his thoughts, Connor thanked you and pocketed the coin, hearing it ‘clink’ with the quarter that he already had in his pockets. Bringing his attention back to the present, he was surprised to see you still standing there, but your attention was already elsewhere, more specifically towards the large Saint Bernard that was wagging its tail furiously in hopes of getting petted. You looked up with him with an undisguised expression of excitement. “Can I pet him?” You asked, and when he nodded, you immediately began to coo at the large dog who was only too happy to oblige to your affectionate belly rubs. 

Connor couldn’t help but feel vaguely disappointed. He looked to the side where you had placed your backpack (a student?) and watched as you quickly rolled up your black windbreaker sleeves to vigorously pet the dog.

He had almost missed your question, but could catch enough of your words to know that you were asking if he came here often. “Recently, I have been frequenting this park to walk Sumo,” he said, listening to you echo the dog’s name delightedly. “I have only recently moved to a neighborhood in close proximity to this area, so it’s most likely you would not have seen me prior to this month.”

You agreed, “I think I would notice you and such a cute dog,” you cooed at Sumo before reverting your voice back to its normal tone, “if you came around often before.” You scratched at Sumo’s ears absentmindedly as you looked up at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” you said, “I never got your name.”

“My name is Connor.” He had learned to leave out the rest of his introduction a while ago. “And yours?”

You responded back with your own name and got to your feet, seemingly satisfied with the amount of dog love you acquired through Sumo. You stuck out your hand and grinned widely, and as Connor shook your hand, you said, “It’s nice to meet you, Connor! I hope I’ll see you around more often!”

Just as casually as you began the conversation, you just as easily said your goodbyes. You waved eagerly, and he imitated the action but with less robustness. He watched you walk away until Sumo tugged at the leash, finally impatient enough to want to continue down the sidewalk. With a last glance at your retreating figure, Connor apologized to Sumo about the delay before following the dog on its mission to find a squirrel. He could only hope he would meet you again.

 

It was only coincidence he met you literally the next day.

“Connor! Hey!” You called for him, waving at him exuberantly. Connor had just exited the donut shop with an entire box of assorted ones for the police force when he heard your voice from down the street. When Connor met your eyes and raised his hand in a small wave, you beamed so clearly that he had a hard time figuring why it was so endearing you were so excited to see him. 

Connor watched as you quickly told the two friends you were with something before bounding (yes, because there was an extra hop to your steps today compared to yesterday) to him with a warm smile. Again, there was that appreciative gaze you gave him as you looked up and down, the quickening of your heartbeat indicating that you very much liked the way he looked in his police uniform. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” you said teasingly. “I thought donuts were just a stereotype, officer.” 

“Unfortunately, the lieutenant likes to consume unhealthy foods on a daily basis,” Connor explained, feeling a smile raise his lips as you huffed in amusement. “I would normally not indulge him on this, but it seemed that everyone else in the precinct wanted one, so I was sent.” It was Gavin that told him to go, telling him that since he made money now the least he could do was buy donuts. It was funny how their relationship developed, but at least they weren’t at each other’s throats, literally. Connor paused, unsure if his next words were overstepping anything. “Would you like one?” he offered. 

“Oh, no! No, thanks.” You grinned. “I’m not that into donuts, surprisingly,” you said. “I’m more of an ice-cream kinda person, you know?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Connor said, liking the way your eyes gleamed.

“So, what is it like, being an officer,” you said, pointing at the DPD logo on his shoulder.

It hadn't been quite long since Connor was officially reinstated as an official detective after the revolution. An adjustment had to be made, of course, for both the precinct and for Connor himself as androids could not only hold their own jobs but also be protected under the law like a human.

It was an even bigger adjustment for him to be helping androids after weeks of deliberately hunting them down. Connor mindfully pushed that thought away.

“It’s not quite that big of change from what I was before,” he responded, smiling, hoping it was as warm as he could make it. “I get to protect both androids and humans, so that’s certainly something new. If anything, it’s… nice to be able to get paid, even though I have yet to figure out what I should spend on, besides pastries for the precinct, of course.”

You let out an appreciative laugh. “The job suits you,” you said, and he watched your eyes glanced over his attire again in approval. “You look good in uniform.” Your eyes widened in panic after your comment, pink blooming on your cheeks. “I--I mean,” you stammered, raising your hand to your lips, “you look good as an officer-- wait, uh, I mean, you do look good but--”

Connor quickly glanced at your attire: an apricot floral skirt that ended right above your knees, a top that complemented its color, twine-esque sandals to finish the look. “You look nice as well,” he replied easily, watching as you snapped your mouth shut, the color on your cheeks continuing to spread. “Your outfit very much complements both your physical features and your personality,” he said as a matter of fact. “You look like the embodiment of a summer day.”

“I--” You paused, covering your mouth with your hand to hide the growing, but shy, smile on your face. Your eyes glanced at him ever so often. You let out a laugh as you looked back at him, face completely flushed, but your voice was as teasing as ever. “I never knew you were into Shakespeare,” you commented, but your tone told you that you were undeniably flattered. 

(He quickly researched Shakespeare and received results about a poet that used a certain meter to tell stories and more famously, write love poems. If Hank knew he was accidentally quoting poetry, Hank would have gagged.)

“I’m not,” Connor said honestly, blinking. “That’s just what I saw.”

You laughed again and playfully pushed his shoulder as you gushed about what a poet he was and then proceeded to give him your phone number. “I want to get to know you more,” she said, and he agreed. All he really registered was that he would get to see you again. “Soon,” you had said to him hopefully before going back to your friends.

 

It had been a few days since the last time you had met Connor, and it was only through Hank’s insistence that he had sent you a text asking how your day was. “How the hell is she going to talk to you if she doesn’t have your phone number?” Hank had grumbled as Connor received his first text message back from you with a set of smiling emojis. He pretended not to care when Connor thanked him for his help, saying something along the lines of “don’t fucking mention it.”

It was then that Connor began to get to know you more. You were a second-year graduate student at a nearby university, living in an apartment with three other roommates. You liked pastel colors, dogs (he heard how you nostalgically talked about your own dog and made note to let you see Sumo again as soon as possible), and singing (though you said you were no good at it). There was very little things you disliked eating, and you had no allergies except to “maybe dust,” you had texted to him with a ‘laughing-crying’ emoji. It was apparent you conveyed your emotions through these small faces and hoped that you didn’t mind his lack of usage. Apart from texting, you would actually call him at night whenever he was free, mindful of his work schedule.

It was on a quiet Thursday night when you had called him at the usual time, 8 PM, and he picked up the phone knowing it was you without looking. “How are you?” He always began, feeling himself relax as he heard the laughter in your voice as you replied as the same as ever. Connor placed his jacket on the dining hall table and loosened his tie, speaking through the phone as he settled himself on the couch with Sumo soon following after him.

“So, I was wondering,” you said, the tone in your voice changing from playful to bashful. “If you’re free this Saturday, I was thinking maybe we could hang-- uh, go out together?” 

Connor looked at the blank TV in front of him, watching as his LED swirled yellow momentarily. “I am free Saturday, and I’d be glad to be able to see you again,” he said. “What were you planning for us to do?”

“I was thinking about going to the aquarium,” you responded, sounding more flustered on the phone. “I remember you saying that you like animals, and you liked fish, and I thought maybe it’d be nice for us to go look at them together.” You mumbled something else, and Connor pressed the phone closer to his ears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the last part of what you said.” He continued, “But I would be delighted to go with you to the aquarium.”

“Just the two of us,” you said, though it sounded more like a question. 

“Yes, of course.” Connor hoped he sounded as confused as he felt. “Is this not a date?”

Connor was alarmed at the loud crack over the other side of the call as he distantly heard you yelp. “Are you alright?” He asked in concern. 

“Yes! Yeah, sorry, I dropped my phone.” He heard you fumble with the phone and breathe out deeply. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor began nervously, pulling at his collar as the temperature seemed to increase. “Did I interpret your invitation incorrectly? Because--” 

“No! I-- I was asking you out on a date, for sure,” you exclaimed, quick to fix him. “I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable going out with me. But yes! So you can make it?” You grew more excited. “I can buy us the tickets online--”

“I would be pleased to accompany you to the aquarium as your date. As for the tickets, I have just bought them,” Connor replied, his LED flickering as he made the purchase for the aquarium. At your protest, he said, “I insist. I need something to spend on, after all. You can pay for our food and drinks during the date.” 

“Connor,” you pointed out, amused, “you don’t eat or drink.”

“Yes,” he agreed, not really understanding why you laughed, but happy to have caused you to nonetheless. “When should we meet?”

“10AM? I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll send you my address,” Connor responded, feeling thirium rush through his biocomponents, imitating what it would feel if adrenaline was coursing through him. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

The warmth in your tone was enough for him to tell you felt the same.

 

The only thing standing between Connor and meeting you again was Hank, arms crossed. “No,” he said. It was late, and everyone was eager to go home on a Friday night. Connor would have thought Hank would feel the same, but it was apparent he did not. Not today, anyways.

Connor pressed his lips together. “I don’t see why--”

“You can’t show up on a date in your uniform,” Hank said in exasperation, “not even your Cyberlife outfit; it’s too formal for something like going to an aquarium, and it's like bringing your work with you.”

“She had indicated pleasure to seeing me in uniform,” Connor said defensively.

“That’s--” Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point. You can look good in other outfits, Connor. You need to make it a special occasion by… dressing up nice. She’s probably going to do the same for you.”

Connor thought deeply as Hank watched his LED swirl yellow for a few moments until he spotted a certain detective in the distance. The last time he had borrowed Hank’s formal clothing, it had either turned out too gaudy or large. Who could Connor borrow from that was his size (more or less) and was still here?

“Detective Reed,” Connor called out, ignoring the way the man turned to glare at him as his usual greeting. Hoping he was pulling out the best appeasing smile, Connor said, “I was wondering if you would like to go out for a few drinks with me.”

 

“And why the fuck don’t you have your own clothes, fucking plastic?” Gavin said hours later, watching with an exasperated expression as Connor looked through his closet for ‘date clothes.’ It was a good thing they had met after hours or Gavin would have rather died than talk to Connor civilly let alone offer Connor an opportunity to look in his closet to impress a girl; he pushed down the urge to regurgitate the five shots he had downed in an hour.

Picking up a plain white shirt to accompany a light blue jacket, Connor could only shrug. “I hadn’t thought I would need it,” he said honestly, scanning the closet before settling on khaki colored pants and white shoes that would accompany his top. “I was content on borrowing the lieutenant’s clothes.”

“Maybe your new girlfriend can help you get a goddamn fashion sense,” the other officer groused. Connor could see him rolling his eyes without actually turning around.

Blinking, Connor looked back at Gavin as he gathered the clothes. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

This time Connor did see Gavin roll his eyes. “Sure, tin can. Whatever you say,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You’re going on a date but you’re not dating, makes sense to me.”

“Thank you for the clothes, Detective,” Connor replied, giving the detective a small, albeit smug smile. “These clothes are shorter than my stature, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless--”

Connor ducked just in time to dodge the white sneakers that he had requested from Gavin which were exactly his size: a nine-and-a-half. 

You rang the doorbell exactly ten minutes before the given time. Not that it mattered much since Connor was ready to go hours ago. He opened the door, watching as your face seemed to light up the moment you saw him. “Sorry,” you said immediately, “I came a little earlier than I thought.”

“Wow, it really has been too long,” you teased, evidently scanning your eyes up and down appreciatively before winking. You laughed when Connor stammered, unsure how to respond to both your flirtatious comment and also to the bombardment of emotions that rammed into him. It was like watching a flower in bloom: was it possible for you to be sweeter than last time you met? 

Connor made a motion to welcome her in, and she abided, cheerfully greeting Sumo as he came up to her and sat at her feet. He couldn’t help but watch her in silent awe.

Your dark hair falling down in soft rivulets at your shoulders, it complemented the white top of your dress. Small bouquets of pink and red contrasted with the blue of the bottom half. Considering you topped it off with sandals that made you much shorter than Connor, forcing you to tilt your head up at him, did not help him deal with the fact your presence screamed “cute!” in his face. 

It seemed that he had paused for too long of a moment because he hadn’t noticed that your attention had turned to him. “Connor? You okay?” You asked, going on your tip-toes to peer into his face. 

“Yes! I’m perfectly fine.” Connor coughed, which made you even more confused, because when did androids need to clear their throats? “I apologize,” he said, “I was taken aback by your appearance. You seem to increase in attractiveness every time we meet.” When you began to blush, he continued with a hint of the same flirtatious tone you had used on him, “I’m afraid that someday you’ll be too stunning for me to look at.”

“Connor, stop!” You giggled, covering a snort that was nothing short of adorable as you objected to his admittedly corny lines. “I should say that to you!” You said, voice warm, “You look really good, honestly. I’m so glad we could go to the aquarium together. It’s been a long time since I last visited.” 

Thinking back to the last minute advice Hank had for him, Connor politely stuck out his arm for you to take, pleased when you hooked arms with him without a second thought, smiling brightly. “Shall we go then?”

“I’ll lead the way!”

 

It was like a world on its own, for the most part. Certainly, neither of you could ignore the crowd that shuffled the two of you down a popular show of whales or sharks. (Connor didn’t mind this; it gave him an opportunity to hold you hands so you wouldn’t get separated from him.) That didn’t stop Connor from glancing over at you ever so often and simply admire the unadulterated emotions on your face. He liked to pinpoint the mole you had on your eyelid (“Almost like a beauty mark,” you told him) and see your eyes widen when a particularly pretty jellyfish floated its way across the glassed containers. 

Perhaps it wasn’t a mystery why he thought you looked more attractive. Being able to know you, understanding why you were so fascinated by otters (you liked the fact they held hands in their sleep; Connor glanced down at his own hand that you had never let go) or even knowing why you fussed over buying him a souvenir (because how could you let him pay for everything?). He even liked the way you ate with such enjoyment even though you seemed to hold back because “Connor, come on, I can’t just swallow the entire sandwich whole; we’re in public.” 

It was these little quirks about you that made you you that made you so attractive. There could be no one else out there that could be exactly like you, and he knew that he particularly liked every part that made you unique to him. “You’re similar to this kaleidoscope,” Connor commented when you had gushed over its sea-related designs. When you had laughed, he continued with a smile on his face. “You have many facets, all of which are completely distinct from everyone else,” he said, turning the octoscope for a moment. “No matter how much I turn it, it continues to give me a unique array of color that creates a beautiful work of art that I can never tire of.”

If he noticed the wetness of your eyes or how determined you were to buy this for him, Connor said nothing. He only gripped your hand tighter as the two of you continued down the tiles of the aquarium.

 

The two of you walked slowly, hand in hand, looking in awe at the abundance of life in each window of the aquarium. Connor stopped for a bit longer at one section, watching the _dwarf gourami_ swim leisurely through the water. When he felt a tug at his hand, he immediately switched his attention toward you, who had begun to dreamily follow the dimly lit blue lights down the tunnel of water where seals circled around without a care in the world. They stepped down in a dome-like fixture of the seal exhibit, letting a group of tourists by so they had the room to themselves. 

It was at this moment Connor felt your attention waver. He watched in mild confusion as your temperature began to warm and your heart beat increased without a change in scenery. “Is there something wrong?” He watched as you climbed up to a higher stairstep, never letting go of his hand, and it was hard for him to hide the immense amount of adoration he held for you when you weren’t turned his way. Even now, as you faced away from him momentarily, he could still see the tinge of red high on your cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, finally standing tall enough that you no longer needed to look up at him. “I just-- I just wanted to be your height for a sec.” 

Connor tilted his head, as he always did when confused. “Alright,” he said. “Not that I mind, but I’m growing rather concerned about your rise in temperature; are you sure you--”

“I’m fine, Connor,” you said, laughing, gripping his hands tightly. “I-- um,” you licked your lips, “I just thought it’d be easier for me to kiss you if I was like this.”

You looked at him shyly. Connor could barely feel himself think. 

“Is that… okay?” You asked nervously, bunching up your hands in front of you. 

Connor opened his mouth, surprisingly dry, and closed it. It wasn’t as if he lacked words to say, but he doubted his voice could function well at all. Instead, emulating the scenarios from rom-com movies Hank fell asleep to, Connor stepped closer to you, noting the way your breath hitched, and lightly held onto your waist. 

“That is…” he began, feeling his thirium pump work towards overheating when he saw your eyes dilate as your eyes trailed over his lips. He watched you as if time slowed, your eyes fluttering closed and your face growing closer. “That is more than okay,” he said before your lips pressed against his. 

 

Connor couldn’t describe it. It was difficult to string his thoughts together let alone put his thoughts into words. It was softness, passion, nervous energy, eagerness, and something heated all combined into the kisses you shared with him. You reached up to hold his face closer, and he slid his hands across the fabric of your dress to pull you closer, closer. He was no good at kissing, as it seemed practice actually did make perfect in these cases, but for what mattered, it didn’t seem as you cared, based off the way you breathed heavily and combed through his hair in a way that made him shiver.

When you pulled away, he was delighted and adoring how your face was flushed in embarrassment as if you weren’t the one to initiate the kiss in the first place. She stammered something Connor couldn’t hear, but he was at least glad that he wasn’t the only who could barely think straight. 

“Sorry,” he said, making you look up at him with starry eyes. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.” And he swooped in for another kiss.

Connor’s emotions came in like waves, pushing and pulling him along without direction. It was overwhelming, the way he felt the need to hold your waist so he could press your body to his but also the desire to simply caress your face and just be. Connor recognized this feeling; he had swam against the current last time, trying to regain control of himself because of the sense of instability. This time was different. He didn’t mind this tidal wave of feelings for you lift him up higher and higher. 

You were an ocean that he wanted to drown in.

Connor knew he had a lot to learn about you and about human emotions. Still, in the back of his mind, there part of him that was still drifting along the tide, thinking to himself that perhaps this was the start of his journey of falling in love with you.


	2. Insecure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is surprisingly good at giving honest compliments and possibly even better at loving you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this one is just as cute as the last one for ya'll!! Your comments make me really happy! I really appreciate hearing your feedback! :))

Deviant, Connor was still an android at his core, so he relied on observation, data, and analysis to deal with the world around him. Humans were amazing in that way, with their ability to adapt to whatever was thrown at them, even if it was new. Nonetheless, Connor was used to using his eyes to take in his surroundings, process them, then arrive to a conclusion that would better help his understanding of the situation. 

Feelings were still something new to him. It was odd to feel something in his heart when he had no heart, to be able to imitate human-like reactions to emotions like happiness or embarrassment. To this day, he was still discovering new emotions at a alarmingly rapid pace ever since he deviated. Guilt and fear were only two he felt deeply when he saw Hank being held hostage by his later model. It was a terrible feeling; a heavy drop in his chest and his core temperature as his mind went into overdrive in desperation of deciding between the revolution or saving Hank. He was lucky he didn’t have to choose between the two. 

On a better note, Connor had learned a lot about happiness and a lot about family. With Hank by his side guiding him to the best of his abilities (though he continuously denied that he was anything near a good role-model), he had grown into his new position as a police officer and took pride in his work as they protected Detroit from crime.

When he met you, he learned a few more. The first most noticeable one was giddiness, a hybrid between nervousness and excitement that felt similar to restlessness but with a happier anticipation. It felt almost ticklish, if Connor could describe it in that manner, and he felt it every time he saw your name show up when you called him and whenever he waited for you to show up ten minutes early (as per usual) on a date. 

Another one was bashfulness. It was a cousin of embarrassment, the way it made his core temperature heat up and his cheeks burn. Connor felt it every time you praised him in anything he did, mainly because every time you did compliment him, it was always with the most heartfelt manner. Whether you were gushing over his newfound skills or pressed in awe over his abilities to investigate, he knew you meant every word, every praise-- which was why it he always felt so shy whenever you did compliment him. He knew it well that his skills could be deemed as impressive, but it was different when you noticed; it filled him with a sense of pride.

 

The first time you visited the precinct was the first time you had ever stepped into a police department and met Hank. It was a lot in one day, Connor thought in amusement as he watched you extend a hand to Hank in greeting with a slight hiccup in your speech. 

You would usually never get nervous at meeting new people, assuming you had never met Hank in your life, but you had shown previous concerns about introducing yourself to the lieutenant. “Well, it’s like,” you said, gesturing with your hands animatedly as you struggled to explain to him. “He’s like… your dad, isn’t he?” He looked at the posters you put on the wall, a show of love for your favorite shows, as you thought of the words you wanted to say. “Isn’t meeting the family sorta a ‘big’ thing,” you emphasized. 

From the corner of his eye, Connor saw you sit up from the couch. Before you could reach out to grab a can of soda off of your living room table, he quickly walked over and took it before you. You pouted, retracting your hand as he raised a brow in question. You had asked him to stop you every time you tried to eat something unhealthy, and now you’re not too sure if that was a good plan. Still, he wanted to do you right; he did think that you shouldn’t drink something that was twice the amount of sugar someone should consume a day.

“I’m not sure Hank sees me in that way,” Connor said, smiling when you gave him a pointed look. “But I suppose that we do have that sort of relationship. I do enjoy living with him and being a part of his life, and, while rare, I am mistaken as his son when they can’t see my LED.” He turned his head to show the blue halo on the right of his forehead. 

“As for meeting the family... I’m not completely sure,” Connor said, placing the can of soda on top of the fridge that you wouldn't be able to reach unless you grabbed a step ladder. (Which, you would not; he would catch you later climbing the counter to reach for it an hour later.) He turned back to you as he searched up the importance of meeting a significant other’s parents. “I believe the implications of meeting with one’s parents varies across cultures,” he concluded as you scooted aside and patted the place next to you on the couch. 

“I think it’s a big thing,” you confirmed, nodding. You leaned back in cushion and lifted your leg until they rested on his thighs. You hummed, content, when he began rubbing circles on your calves. “It says that you’re serious about the relationship,” you said, “like you intend for your partner to stay a long time. That they’re going to be a permanent fixture.”

Connor felt a unwelcome feeling suddenly stop his movement as his thoughts ran through his mind. Fear always had a powerful control on him, even after all this time, even if he hadn’t needed to be afraid if someone could die. “Was... there a chance that you would want this relationship only temporarily?” He asked, unsure why he had never fathomed that that could have been an option, that this relationship had a time limit. You were a college student, he would not have put it past you if you had to leave him to pursue your career, and he would not have stopped you if you decided to do so. Or if you decided to leave him for someone else. Someone human. 

You didn’t give him a chance to even linger on that thought. “No,” you said easily. “Never.” You swung your legs around, and Connor hadn’t even realized that he had been holding onto your ankle possessively. The feeling of your head on his thighs surprised him, and he knew you could tell because you giggled, finding his hand to hold as you teased him. 

“I don’t go into relationship thinking they’ll end,” you said, equally light-hearted as you were serious. “I want them to last.” You looked up at him as you placed your joined hands on your chest where he could feel your heart beat steadily. “I want this relationship with you to last.”

He didn’t tell you how _relieved_ that made him feel, the heaviness in his abdomen immediately lifting. He only chose to caress your cheek as gently as he could, and when you turned your face around and snugly found a place in his lap to take a quick shut-eye, he rubbed soothing circles on your shoulders until you relaxed.

In conclusion: there was no reason you should be worried when you met Hank. 

 

Still, when Connor went back home that night, he asked Hank, just to make sure.

“Why are you asking me this?” Hank asked, blanching at the plate of vegetables that was presented to him. “And do you _have_ to make brussel sprouts?”

“She presented some concerns that you would not find her favorable since she is now in a romantic relationship with me. I wish to assuage her concerns,” Connor said, pouring dog food into the bowl for Sumo. He paused. “And… I suppose, mines too.”

“Connor, if she’s as amazing as you say, and if she cares for you as much as you,” Hank shrugged, stabbing a sprout with a fork. He grimaced at the vegetable before putting it into his mouth, chewing tentatively before finding that the garlic stir-fry made it not-as-bad. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t like her,” he said. 

Connor found that sentiment extremely comforting, and he said so to Hank who made a face and waved him away, even though Connor knew too well that he was just embarrassed. 

“And,” Connor added lastly, “I suppose this particular selection of vegetables was not necessary, but the consumption of them _is_.” He turned around to hide his smile before Hank’s glare could reach him.

 

At the precinct, Hank obviously found it funny that you were so nervous, and Connor could see clearly that he chose between two decisions: to calm you down by initiating small talk or to tease you by talking about your relationship with Connor. Based off the redness of your face, it was likely Hank chose the latter option. 

The only reason why Hank was able to tease you in the first place was probably his fault. Connor had told him that you intended to visit, among other things. (“I believe she can eat faster than you, Hank” or “She once told me her preference for older men. Does that mean she would prefer you over me?” were some of the details he shared to Hank, giving Hank the ammo and the description of your personality that he needed to tease you. Connor was to blame, but to be fair, Connor hadn’t meant for you to take the brunt of the damage; it was just hard to stop talking about you when he started.)

Besides, you looked cute when you were embarrassed.

“Hank, as much as I appreciate the fact that you approve of my partner,” Connor began, suppressing the urge to laugh when you sputtered at his comment, “I am growing concerned that the longer her temperature remains at this level, she may faint,” he said, unable to hide the smile that grew wider. “Though,” he continued, giving you a flirtatious wink, “if you do, I’ll be sure to catch you in my arms.”

The way you hid your face behind your hands and the appreciative _“ha!”_ he got from Hank made Connor feel lighter than air.

 

You _loved_ food. If food was a person, Connor felt that he would finally know what jealousy felt like. While it wasn’t mandatory, your love of food came with a love of cooking, and he had picked up on cooking because you liked to. It became an easy way for him to spend time with you at home since he didn’t need to eat, sleep, or drink like you did. 

Cooking was a matter of following instructions, which Connor was good at, to an extent; his programming never really disappeared, he only made it his own. But you made cooking into an experiment, putting thai peppers in a stir-fry dish because you liked spices in your dish or more butter than necessary because it “tasted better this way.” Sometimes, you _didn’t_ know if it would taste better than not, but you push the mushrooms in the pot anyway, snickering whenever Connor looked at you in confusion at your impromptu decisions.

So Connor learned. He couldn’t eat, but he could at least recognize the pattern in your tastes and ever so often, taste the food himself. You liked food with a strong flavor, but when it came to pasta, subtle flavors were preferred. With information like this, it became habit for him to offer himself to cook for you.

“I can do it,” Connor insisted when you looked at him with amusement. “You won’t have to eat it if you deem it unsatisfactory.”

“No, I just feel like you work enough, so you shouldn’t have to cook for me,” you said. “But if you _really_ want to, I won’t stop you. I’ll eat whatever you cook for me, Connor.”

It was a shame he was such a good chef (catered to your tastes), because you found it hard to refuse him whenever he offered to cook.

“You shouldn’t spoil me too much with this,” you joked, “or else I’ll get fatter and I’ll never fit into these pants again.”

It took a moment for Connor to process your words. He tilted his head, as he always did when he was perplexed (you found it cute). “You would have to consume a very large amount of food for you to be unable to fit in your current clothing,” he said, pausing. “Also, I do not spoil you, I’m only giving you what you deserve, after all. In addition, your modest and core value of resilience makes you incapable of being spoiled.”

Connor liked the way you gushed over him. You did it with a mix of adoration and embarrassment whenever he complimented you (but he was really just telling you the truth?). Still, he didn’t understand why you felt the need to say such things; you never were the type to exaggerate. Connor understood the necessity of moderation and healthy eating, as Hank was keen to grouch to him that Connor knew _too well_ whenever the android forced a plate of vegetables in front of him. But you didn’t have problems with eating a salad or two, or cooking your own meals so that you had a balanced diet, so why did he sense an undertone of self-deprecation that Hank ever so often adopted?

Before he could call your attention to this, Connor’s thoughts were interrupted by your noise of delight when you tasted the glazed chicken that he had prepared. And he was distracted, as he usually was whenever you were near him, and the topic didn’t seem to be relevant anymore, not with the way you joyfully ate his food and told humorous stories about your week at college. You were happy, so he was too.

But the problem was, it _was_ relevant.

 

Connor sat in the family living room, having been let into the shared apartment by your roommate who told you that you were in the restroom. He thanked her before walking toward the room at the end of the hall and knocking. Slightly concerned that you were not responding, Connor knocked again, calling your name. When this garnered no action, he softly apologized for intruding as he opened the door to make sure you were okay. And you were, standing in front of the mirror, fixated on your reflection to the point you hadn’t heard him come in at all. You were wearing a new outfit today: a black and white spaghetti strap romper that ended at your upper thighs. Connor lingered appreciatively at how the clothes complemented your voluptuous behind and defined proportions that gave you an hourglass shape before he cleared his throat loudly just enough to get your attention. 

“Oh, Connor!” You said in surprise, quickly pulling at your romper shorts. “I didn’t hear you! Did my roommate let you in?”

“She did.” Connor nodded, before giving you a soft smile, taking your hands away from your romper. You held your breath in stuttered awe as he leaned in and kissed your forehead lovingly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the sudden affection that he initiated. “I realize this is a new outfit,” he said, glancing down to make a point. “It greatly enhances your best physical features.”

“Wait, really?” You asked, a tone of genuine surprise, making Connor blink in confusion. You twisted around, trying to take a look at your backside in the mirror with concern. “I just-- I don’t know,” you said, growing increasingly frustrated. “Are you sure it looks okay? I usually don’t wear these things so I don’t know if it looks good or not. It might make me look, uh, you know…” 

Connor wasn’t sure what you were going to finish the sentence with but he thought that uncertainty didn’t suit you.

You looked back at him, distracted as he took your hand in yours and kissed it. “If you feel more comfortable in something else, then don’t feel the need to wear it,” he said, “but if you want to wear it, then I don’t see why you can’t.” He paused, continuing hesitantly as if nervous, “And if it counts for anything, I think you look great.”

The blush on your face told him your mood was lifting. “Thanks for telling me that,” you said, leaning in for a hug that he gladly returned. You looked back at your reflection, back straight with confidence before turning to him with a wide grin. “To be honest, I wanted to look good for you,” you said, grinning cheekily as of doubt was never there in the first place. “Can’t be walking around with you if I don’t look just as hot, hun.”

Connor felt himself short-circuit, as he always did when you flirted with him. “I-- For me?” He stammered, making you laugh and hug him again in endearment.

“Why wouldn’t I want to look good for you?” You said, “I have you now, so of course I’d want to impress you.” You winked. “Seducing you is my only job now.”

He knew you were flattering him, if the heated thirium pump was anything to go by, but still-- “Why would you need to seduce me when you’re the only one I would ever look at?” He asked honestly, not quite understanding why (he’ll get there eventually) you gave him a wobbly smile and buried your face into his chest when he said that. Nonetheless, he wrapped his arms around you, feeling oddly happy when you playfully began to sway, giggling all the while as you ‘danced’ with him in the small bathroom. 

(Eventually someone else would need to use the restroom, but until then, you had your moment.)

 

Aesthetics were a social construct, to an extent.

Connor could tell when someone was attractive, or more specifically, when a person had the features of an attractive person that society tended to favor. He had an appreciation for beauty, but he didn’t have the same ‘tastes’ as the general public. Exhibit One: the young, female brunette with astonishingly blue eyes and the height of a model that came into the police station to write her statement as a witness in the latest robbery. It wasn’t in Connor’s jurisdiction, so he had no inside information about her case or her profile, but based off the looks that Gavin and the rest of the precinct was giving her, she was extremely beautiful. 

“Ooh, _wow_ ,” you commented in surprise, watching as the witness walked by their desk with a friendly smile. “She’s _really_ pretty,” you said, eyes following her with everyone else. 

Connor let a small smile lift his lips. He liked the way you were appreciative of beauty, no matter the gender. The territory came with being honest: you said it how you see it. 

Your gaze lingered. He walked up to you and tapped you on the shoulder. “You alright there?” 

“Oh, nothing,” you replied, slightly distracted. “She’s just-- she’s really pretty, isn't she.”

Connor took note of a lot of things, and recently he had been cataloguing every smile and frown and every pout you had because you were such an expressive person that there seemed to be a face for every emotion you had. This one though, when you had this far-away look to your eyes that made your face void of emotion even as your voice held a disguised tone of uncomfortable admiration, he hadn’t seen yet. But the look made him feel uneasy, similar to the feeling whenever Hank used to make off-hand jokes about mortality. Connor didn’t like it.

“Yes,” Connor said, acknowledging the longing glances than many officers had given her and the commonly attractive symmetry of her face, “but your aesthetics are much more appealing to me.” He took a step closer to you, bringing his hands from behind his back. “You have warmer presence, your speaking cadence is much livelier, and you have a spring in your step,” he told you. “Like a song,” he said. “Your song.”

You let out a laugh. “That’s pretty poetic,” you said teasingly, nudging him playfully. Connor silently felt pleased at accomplishing his mission of distracting you. “Are you talking about the music I showed to you earlier?” You asked, giving him a budding smile. You had gotten into the habit of sharing more things about you by sending him links and files that you liked. The song you had sent him the other day you had dubbed your all-time favorite (for the next few months anyways). “Did you like it?”

“Yes, I quite liked it,” he responded, allowing you to take a hold of his hand. “It reminded me of you,” he said, liking the way your heart beat jumped a notch at his words. “I like it when things remind me of you,” he admitted, having the gall to make your heart leap when he sounded shy. 

You melted, heart full of love that was fit to burst. “If you’re not going to stop doing that cute doe-eye thing right now…” You threatened, looking up at him with a mischievous grin as you played with his tie with a free hand. “I think I’m going to have to flirt with you until you're thirum pump overheats!”

“Well, I’m certainly not adverse to that idea,” Connor replied nonchalantly, though the way he placed his hands on your waist made your breath hitch.

“ _Oh g--_ Would it kill you two to get a room?” When the two of you heard Hank groan in the background, you leapt away from him and nervously pulled at your ponytail, flushed in embarrassment.

Connor could only smile sheepishly as the detective buried his face into his hands. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

 

 

If Connor could describe you in one word, as you often asked him in different arrangements, he would call you soft. You were soft-hearted, and it showed in the way you spoke to the elderly and to him. With him, it seemed as if you had an unlimited well of patience. Your unbridled genuine manner shined in the way you smiled at people, the happiness always traveling up to your eyes. 

“You brighten the room.” You looked at Connor in confusion when you brought Hank a coffee on your rare visit to the station. Connor corrected himself, “That is to say, your presence illuminates your surroundings, or least for me.” He said, sifting through his report, “You're all I can seem to see whenever you walk in.”

Connor looked up when Hank spat out his coffee, thankfully in the trash bin, and then to you who looked barely less than enamored. “Is it something I said?” He asked, watching Hank wipe his mouth in disgust. 

“Yeah, it is, lover boy,” Hank scoffed. “It’s the goddamn corny shit you keep spitting out. Do you have to do it every time?”

“I do not intend to be ‘corny’ every time I speak.” Connor lowered his brows in intense confusion. “It is simply what I think.” He looked at you, not knowing how his eyes peered up at you innocently doe-like. “Should I stop?”

“No,” you said, coming around to him, you voice as soft as silk. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and smiled into the kiss you gave him on his cheek. “I like it. You say it how you think.” You grinned, and he returned the smile.

“I suppose that’s something we both in common,” he commented, revelling in the way your soft lips felt.

You giggled. “Maybe you should think about being a poet.”

Hank groaned in the background. 

 

Personality aside, you were also soft _literally._

Your hands were small, almost dainty if they weren’t tough from the sports you played when you were in high-school, but still, they felt soft when you cupped his face and played with his cheeks. Out of the benefits that came with becoming deviant, Connor liked his ability to feel. He liked your hugs because they felt nice, comforting. You were soft all over, which was something he was not since he was made to be a deviant hunter, but your body was pliant, and something just felt good being able to press his hands along your curves and hold the thighs you liked to call thick (with two c’s, you reminded him playfully). 

You were filled out ‘in all the right places’ he would quote something he saw online, because he didn’t quite understand what that meant, but after observing the curves and dips of your hips, chest, and behind, he felt that he understood quite enough. It was embarrassing for you, to be showered with love for your body, but Connor couldn’t help it. He wasn’t about to get sick of watching his hands sink into your plush (though he did avoid having his hands wander to your behind when you were in public; even he knew it wasn’t The Time). 

Even the stretch marks you had on your thighs Connor found fascinating. “I gotta say,” you told him as he eagerly examined your legs after getting your permission, “that has to be one of the weirdest thing someone liked about me.”

“I like every part of you,” he said simply, and you had let him roam his hands across your calves and your thighs before settling them on the curve of your back. 

Cuddling was an extremely well-invested activity that both of you enjoyed. You liked his touches, and you felt safe around him, the height difference counting even while the both of you were on the couch since your face would end up snuggled right under his arms like a jigsaw puzzle. Even though you were embarrassed every time he said it, he also enjoyed the feeling of lying on your stomach because, quite honestly, it was the softest thing he has ever felt. “All that fat is hiding my 6-pack,” you joked, though Connor didn’t quite understand since your muscles were indeed underneath. But he also liked being able to _feel_ you laugh, the way your whole trembled in mirth because of something he said. 

Cuddling became a sort of ritual that you did before you slept, whether it was in your room, Hank’s couch, or Connor’s somewhat lived-in room that Hank had gave him. Sometimes you would find things to talk about that would last through the night, but other nights it was just the two of you, quiet in front of the TV as you basked in each other’s presence.

It was nice, Connor thought. He glanced down as you slept on top of his body peacefully, mouth slightly open. You had warned him that you had the possibility of drooling, but he didn’t see how that could diminish his feelings for you in his eyes. He carefully lifted his arm from your shoulder and sifted through the blanket that sat on top of the couch (courtesy of Hank) before setting it on your body as well as he could without waking you up. Connor watched the television replay another late-night classic before giving in and looking at you instead, breathing steadily, heartbeat pulsing gently in your chest, before he closed his eyes and imitated sleep, completely content to stay like that with you till the morning. 

 

Connor knew he was lacking in some social nuances. He was learning, but he knew that there was always going to be something that he would fail to notice that was important. However, your insecurity about your appearance was something that was growing more evident the more he fell for you. (Falling for you was also something that scared him, because he didn’t know how far he could go, if there was anything there to catch him, but watching you doubt your worth and your beauty began to pain him enough for him to ignore that fear.)

He would try his best to change your mind subtly, complimenting you on your attire and your overall appearance so that the cloud of insecurity would leave. It would work most of the time, as you were not one to stay down, and because you told him yourself that “being with you already makes me feel good,” so who was he to deny you his company?

You wiped your eyes for the fifth time since the climax of the movie that the two of you just watched, sniffling slightly. Connor was ready with a napkin at your side when you reached out for it to dab at your eyes. “Sorry, Connor,” you said, “I always get emotional when things like that happen. They’re happy-- and I’m so happy they’re happy, you know?”

Connor nodded sympathetically, though he offered an amused smile as well. “I think you were one of the few people who were driven to tears by other people’s happiness,” he said. “I find that very impressive,” he added, earning a burst of laughter from you.

“Ha! Me, being emotional at every display of sadness or happiness, ‘impressive.’” You snorted, pushing at Connor’s shoulder’s lightly at the teasing. You breathed in deeply, putting on your winter jacket again. “That was a good movie though, I--” You patted at your sides, only to widen your eyes in alarm. “Oh sh-- I forgot my purse in the theater!” You turned around to collect your belongings when Connor stopped you.

“Allow me. I believe the credits may still be rolling, so it may be too dark for you to see,” he explained.

“If you don’t mind,” you replied, and he nodded in affirmation before turning back to the door they exited from. 

 

Connor found your purse exactly where he thought you left it, squished between the seat and the armrest. He took it, walking down the stairs toward the exit. He scanned the theater, looking for you, when he saw you leaning outside on the wall, arms crossed and visibly uncomfortable. He narrowed his eyes when he saw a man make casual gestures towards the parking lot as he extended an uninvited invitation for you.

“C’mon, it’s nice out tonight, come with me!” 

An older man approached you with intent to touch you, but you had backed away, putting your hands behind your back defensively. “No! I _said,_ ” you said vehemently, glaring, “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. Leave me alone.”

Connor admired your assertiveness, but his adoring thoughts of you were quickly prioritized so that he would think of ways to get that man away from you as quickly as possible. 

“No need to play so hard to get, come on--”

“I’m afraid your advances are not appreciated,” he said, stepping in between you and the man smoothly. Connor felt you grasp his arm, hiding most of yourself behind him. “I suggest you leave her alone immediately.”

Connor quickly glanced behind him, taking a quick scan. He was glad to know that your stress level immediately took a dive with his arrival, though he could have told much just from the sight of the relief on your face.

Unfortunately, this did not solve the problem.

The man took a few moments to falter at the interruption and another to glance at the blue LED light at Connor’s head to formulate a response. “An android? Of course your man’s a fucking robot,” the man sneered at you, making you flinch at the accusatory tone. Connor glared at him, but he continued to yell, unaware of the attention he was attracting. “Desperate! Tryin’ to replace a real person with a machine; no real person would actually find you attractive, you fat bitch.”

Connor had his fair share of insults thrown at him (thank you, Gavin). It ranged from things that didn’t make sense (he wasn’t really made out of plastic) to things that would have described him, but had he not changed (he wasn’t a machine anymore, not for a long time). He had learned that insults were, most of the time, misconstrued conceptions or lies that people spewed in order to put others down, so he never took offense to words that were meant to hurt him. The only time where insults did matter were when they were exposing the truth, usually in the form of name-calling. 

(Hank doesn’t know why Connor watches those soap-operas, but he does. And whenever the female protagonist called her husband, who had slept with her sister, a “cheating bastard,” Connor could understand why that statement would hurt: it was the ‘ugly truth’ as Hank described it, something about you that you didn’t want others to know about, and it usually involved a person’s past mistakes or flaws.)

The first thing Connor heard was the slight hitch in you breath as you heeded the man’s words. He watched as your fear turned to shame, redness creeping up your neck to your cheeks. He watched you dropped your gaze and hid yourself behind him as if you were flinching away in pain. That was when Connor realized the only reason why you were hurt was because somewhere inside of you, you believed this man. 

This man made you think you were ugly.

It took less than three seconds for Connor to register this, and even less than that to push the man yelling profanities at you at the wall roughly and punch the place next to his head where a crack appeared at the impact of Connor’s fist. He could hear you gasp in surprise, and he would apologize for scaring you, but the emotion that had a tight grip on him, anger, had him glaring down at the man who was nothing more than a whimpering mess.

“I would advise you to apologize,” Connor said, voice sharp and cutting. “This isn’t a threat, but if you would like, I can make one right now that’ll be worth your while.”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay! Jeez, just let me go!”

“Only if she never sees your face again.” Connor stared at the man as he frantically nodded before leaning away, leaving a trail of dust from the damaged wall. Before any of them could think to say anything, the man ran away without looking back.

 

“Are you alright?” Connor instantly asked when he no longer saw the man in his sights. He quickly scanned your body, checking for internal and external changes, noting only a raised heartbeat and blood pressure from the encounter.

“I’m okay, Connor,” you replied, giving him a smile that looked tired. You sighed. “That guy gave me some hard whiplash.”

Connor raised his brows questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“I-- the comments he made,” you said, the most unsure you sounded since he had met you. You rubbed your arms. “I knew he was trying to flatter me to get into my pants, but I was still surprised he ended it that way.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered what his intentions were,” Connor said firmly. “He should have left you alone the moment you said ‘no’ to him.” 

“Yeah, that guy was a dick,” you stated, making him laugh in surprise at your bluntness. You glanced around, noting the people that had been staring and sighed again. “Really wish that wasn’t in a busy place though.” Your voice was bitter. “Didn’t need to be called ugly in front of a crowd.”

Again, you played with your hair, mindlessly untangling the strands. This was the third tic Connor had seen you perform out of nervousness, and it was starting to worry him.

He reconstructed the best ways he could approach his concern, and while he knew you would appreciate a private setting, he also predicted that this conversation had a low probability of occurring if he waited until you got home. You were too good at diverting his attention to something else, something positive with less conflict, and Connor cared too much for you to leave it be any longer.

You looked at him finally when he called out your name. Connor hesitated, and formulated his words carefully, “When you say that, you say it as though you believe that sentiment.” When he read confusion on his face, he repeated, “You say it as though you think you’re unattractive.”

When Connor read your heartbeat skyrocket twenty beats, his eyes widened with yours in shock. He watched you stammer, trying to formulate what he knew was an excuse to mask your negativity. 

“I-- It’s,” you began, wringing your hands, “I mean, _yeah,_ I’m not… the best looking person out there.” He saw shame cross your expression again. “I’m fat-- chubby if you want to be nice,” you said, no longer looking into his eyes. He was surprised once again when you continued to say, “I’m sorry, Connor,” like you needed to apologize, “I know this isn’t what you want to hear about the person you’re dating.”

A noise of protest rose from his chest as Connor reached out to grab your hands and squeeze them comfortingly. You looked up at him with wide eyes before turning away.

You were quick to laugh, however, straining your lips into a smile that would have looked genuine if not for the fact you pulled your hands away to grip your shirt tightly. “It’s okay, if anything, if someone punches me, it won’t hurt as bad since I have all this padding.” You joke, “I’m like a human meat shield at this point.”

It hurt. It hurt _so_ much to be hearing you speak like that about yourself especially when he knew you were trying to hide the fact you were hurt too. 

Connor let his hand caress your cheeks gently, touching you with the loving delicacy that you deserved because you were more than you thought you were at this moment. When you finally looked up at him, he spoke, voice strained, “You don’t need to act okay for my sake.” He felt his breath stutter from the ache in his chest. He continued desperately, “If I could find the words to tell you how much you’re worth or how much more beautiful you grow the more I see you--”

“No, Connor, I--” He saw your eyes gleam in the light. “If you look at me like that, I’m going to cry.” And right when you finished your sentence, you buried your face in your hands before a sob escaped your lips. 

Connor had never felt more lost in his life. 

He pulled you close to him, stroking your hair as you quietly cried into his chest. He let out a breath, and if he were human, it would have turned into mist from the cold winter air. People who passed by gave him sympathetic gazes, and it took Connor a quick second to decide to take you to a secluded area so you wouldn’t be at the center of attention. Without forcing you to turn away, he led you to a closed boutique so that you had an opportunity to steady yourself.

‘Empathy is a human emotion.’ Connor could hear Kamski’s words echo in his mind as he felt your breath stuttered and saw your wipe your eyes. His chest ached from seeing you cry because all he seemed to be able to do was hold you in his arms tightly.

From his arms, you pulled away slightly, wiping your face with your sleeves and letting out a wet laugh. “Sorry, Connor,” you said, “I don’t know why I started crying.” You paused before letting out another laugh. “Well, I mean, I do.” You wiped at your wet lashes. “I didn’t mean to cry on our night out.”

“It’s quite alright,” Connor said, squeezing your shoulders comfortingly. “You’ve had an emotional night: the movie, that man… If that happened to me, I believe I would cry myself.”

The comment startled a genuine laugh out of you, and you grinned up at him with wet eyes. “Would you now?” You said teasingly, making his heart feel lighter to see your expression clear up. “You’re telling me you have tear ducts too?”

“Yes, if you had turned toward me during the scene when they embraced, you would have seen me shed a tear,” he said, making you look at him curiously, unsure if he was joking. The smile that Connor gave you soon after confirmed it. “If I happen to cry excessively, I might have to get them refilled with salt water at Cyberlife.”

The contained snicker that filled the cool air warmed Connor considerably, not that he needed anything to regulate his temperature. He watched for a moment as you rubbed our hands together in search of friction before he swooped in to hold them in his own. When you glanced up at him, he felt him movements stutter when he saw the unadulterated adoration in your eyes. 

“Sometimes,” you said, “I think you could do so much better than me.” You dropped your gaze to your connected hands and rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb. “I know I’m not the best person out there, and sometimes I’m reminded of that every time I look in the mirror or make a mistake that makes you work extra hard.” Connor gripped your hands tightly in support, listening in silence as you told him how you felt.

“But I’m still happy!” You quickly continued, meeting his eyes again with resolve. “I’m really, _really_ happy you still think that I’m,” your cheeks tinged with pink, but Connor wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold, “attractive, even if I’m not slim or tall. That you like me even with my flaws.”

“So, I guess, I just wanted to… thank you for accepting me for the person I am.” Your voice dropped as you softly said to him, “You’re the best thing that happened to me.”

It was hard for Connor to understand why he was designed with the ability to breath. But as he stood there, struggling to regulate his circulation as his body went into overdrive, he took a deep breath in and was reminded of its importance. He must have paused for a moment too long as he composed himself because you had started to look at him in concern. 

It was strange, how quickly his mind could work yet how slowly it processed. Right when he understood the implications of your words, his memories zoomed back to the beginning to now. How much he had learned, how much you had changed the way he lived life. He was obviously amiss if he had never told you how much you meant to him.

“Over the year, I have analyzed my reactions and my emotions whenever I was with you,” Connor began as you watched him patiently. You were always like this when he switched to a more clinical way of speaking because you knew that was how his mind worked and remembered that he had a heart to accompany his mind. (He loved you for it.) “From the start I had expressed interest in your person, but from then on, it only grew to something more until I stand here, with you.” 

“The reason why I call you beautiful is not something that was ingrained in my programming,” Connor said. “I have found that the way I see beauty is not necessarily the way others see it, though I have a feeling, based on the romantic comedies that Hank and you have recommended to me, that I am certainly not alone in my sentiment.”

At the mention of the rom-com marathon, you laughed. “What do you mean, Connor?”

Your breath hitched when he gently tilted his head and smiled at you. “What I mean to say is,” he said, “I have concluded that the reason why I view you as beautiful is not _despite_ the fact you are not slim or tall as you seem to believe, but because it is precisely what makes it _you_ that makes you the most beautiful person I know.”

When tears welled up in your eyes again, he leaned down to kiss them, making you let out a giggle that warmed his chest. “Of course, I have also noted that you have a desire to lower your weight and improve your diet, and I would be more than happy to accomodate to your new adjustment and help you reach your goal.”

“Wow,” you said lightly, though the look you gave him told him your words meant more than you let on. You tugged him closer until you were pressed chest-to-chest and leaned up to give him butterfly kisses on his cheek. “My boyfriend doubling as my coach and my dietician,” you said almost dreamily, making him melt inside. “I’m obviously the lucky one in this relationship.”

Connor chuckled, leaning down to kiss you on your forehead before dipping down to meet your lips. “If it matters,” he said to you lowly, as he looked into your dark, dilated eyes, “my calculations say I’m just as equally lucky.”


	3. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you’re just as good as loving Connor back, and he doesn’t know how his feelings could run so deep.
> 
> Alternatively: The both of you learn how to love yourself while being in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR WAITING my few but lovely people who have decided to leave kudos and motivating comments!! Even if it's been a month (YIKES) since I last updated, every new comment gives me the strength of 4 armies so yeah I guess you could say I really appreciate hearing what you liked ;))
> 
> This turned out to be a long chapter (10k+ words) because I'm terrible at estimating how much I would actually write. But here is the finale! I love emotional turmoil but the fluff is something I can't NOT add, so here is the product. I struggled with the ending a lot and ended up rewriting it several times, which is a large part of why it took so long but this is something that I'm satisfied with. soz for the monologue at the ends my buddies;;

Connor never considered himself in need of protection. He was strong, built to last, fast, and completely capable of fighting his own battles.

Then again, so were you, of a different caliber.

On the way home from dinner, or rather, a long walk that you happened to grab food at a hot-dog stand at, you ran into an acquaintance of yours that you had met the first year of college. “Oh, hey, nice seeing you here,” you said warmly, even though the way you leaned on Connor told him you were tired. The friend obviously agreed with your sentiment, pulling you in for a hug that you returned politely. She glanced up at Connor, eyes flickering toward his LED light ever so often, making Connor strangely conscious of its presence for the first time in a while.

“Right, uh,” you said, laughing nervously. “This is Connor. He’s,” he saw you glance at him shyly, “my boyfriend,” you said with a concealed tone of pride. He enjoyed the tight squeeze you gave his hand, causing a flutter in his chest.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, nodding. He tried his best not to seem too pleased at his new title. If you found out how much the word made him react, you would never stop using it around him.

“Yeah, okay, hot,” she said, looking Connor up and down appreciatively, not even bothering to hide her unwelcome gaze. Connor was taken aback with a feeling he knew to be discomfort lingering low. She glanced toward you who quickly gave her a quick, flash of teeth even though Connor knew that was not your real smile. “Sex bot?”

Connor vaguely realized that the girl’s remark was meant to be offensive. After all, society tended to view sexual workers (of both genders for humans and androids especially) as taboo or even scandalously terrible. (You did not feel the same. “I respect that,” you said to him one time when you had driven by the Eden Club, newly remodeled and with willing participants. “They’re trying to make a living.”) In addition to the tone of voice that reeked superiority and ridicule, it was obvious that the girl meant to degrade him by suggesting that he was an object, something less-than, a toy.

He surely had his share of insults thrown at him, but this was a new form of it.

It took you a second longer than Connor would have expected for you to process her words. Your mouth dropped as you stared for a moment, shell-shocked. When it seemed that the rather ill-mannered comment sank in, you quickly glanced towards Connor as if to gauge his reaction before turning attention to the girl. Belatedly, he realized that you were probably watching his LED and his expression to see if he was hurt or alarmed by the comment before responding appropriately. (He had a feeling that the outcome would have been explosively more violent if he had shown any sign of distress.)

“That’s my boyfriend,” you said miffed, as your acquaintance looked at you patronizingly. Still, rather than notice the girl’s gaze, Connor looked down when you tightened the grip on his hand. It was strangely comforting.

“An android?” The girl laughed, making you set your expression and narrow your eyes. “What, did you feel sorry for it and starting dating it so you wouldn’t feel bad fucking it--”

Connor barely understood the context when you reacted.

_“Excuse me?”_

Connor snapped his attention toward you immediately when your voice rose alarmingly quickly with indignation. In a moment, you pulled Connor behind you protectively as you stepped closer to your acquaintance, chin up in, most likely, an instinctive form of aggression. “That’s my _partner_ you’re talking about,” you spoke to her vehemently.

Connor had never heard you use that tone; it was a contained anger, a dangerous one-- a tone that held a warning.

The girl didn’t seem fazed, or she hid it well since it was an 90% chance she just as surprised as Connor to see you anything but mild-tempered. “Well, yeah, sure,” she said, scoffing. She was nervous, read from her accelerating heart rate, but it didn’t seem like she knew she should stop. “You could call it that if you want but that’s all it’s really good for--”

The sharp laugh that Connor heard from you alarmed him, and he turned toward you as you raised your hand to cut her off. “First off, _his_ name is Connor,” you snapped back, making the girl flinch back in response. You didn’t seem to care. “You have no right to speak about him like that, and I’m not going to stand here,” your voice cut sharply as your anger crescendoed, “while you disrespect him like this.”

When there was no immediately response from the girl, as she was probably too shocked by your reply to even react, you fumed and hooked your arms with Connor’s before leading him away where lamps lit the sidewalks. All the while, you stewed in your anger, holding onto his arm like you were ready to fight anyone who stopped you. And all Connor could do was follow you, dazed at the flurry of emotions that he felt from watching you.

 

The instant you dragged him at least a block away from the restaurant, you sighed and stopped underneath a lamppost. You rubbed the back of your neck and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and out to calm yourself. Connor waited patiently for you to take a breather, placing a gentle hand on your back. “Sorry,” you said finally. “I can’t believe she said those things.”

“It’s no problem,” Connor said. You still looked up at him guilty, expression apologetic. “I was just… surprised.” He had hoped his response was sufficient to clear away the concern etched onto your face, but it seemed his calculations were off. He looked away, turning his head to the side so his LED was hidden, not that you weren’t quick enough to note his yellow LED.

“Are… you sure?” You asked, gently pressing. “I want to know how you feel.” You said, holding his hands with yours so he would have to look at you.

“I..” Connor watched as you intently stared at his LED, ready to analyze any change in color that would indicate his mood. When it swirled yellow, Connor spoke again, voice quiet. “I was-- I believe I felt… ‘hurt,’” he said, feeling the strange description roll off his tongue. “I wasn’t physically hurt, but it felt… bad,” he described to the best of his abilities, “when she said it.”

“I knew she was incorrect, but the implications that I was merely a companion for your sexual desires was very…” Connor let his words trail off as he tried to find the emotion. Agitating? Angering? No, it was more muted, less aggressive. “...Very upsetting,” he settled, nodding to himself.

For a moment Connor felt guilt for admitting so, especially when he saw a flare of anger spiked your heart rate momentarily. Quickly, it subsided as if it had never happened, and your response was immediate.

“I’m not about to let anyone say anything like that to you,” you spoke firmly. “You’re so much more than that, and the only reason why she would ever say that is because she refuses to see what’s right in front of her.”

Connor swallowed, finding that it was much harder to do so. It was as if he had a lump in his throat from-- the emotion he was feeling, he supposed. He wasn't used to reacting to things in general; people would tell him he had thick skin, but that was all a result of his justifications and calculations.

And it took him a while, assimilating to human emotion. For better or for worse, he began reacting to more things with his heart rather than his head. Jagged insults and barbed words should never have hurt him, but the more he learned about his humanity, and with it, his mistakes, the more it did.

Connor knew he would never truly be a human. The thought had been persistent ever since you had celebrated your half-year anniversary of your relationship with him. You were full of life, full of emotion and experiences he may not be able to understand because he was still an android at his core. The LED on his made sure he remembered where he came from, and he was equally thankful as he was bitter that it was there.

(Very rarely, he would reconstruct what would have happened if he had been a human from the start. What would change? What wouldn't? And would you still find him that day in the park if he wasn't an android?)

Doubt was an ugly but necessary human emotion he had had the pleasure of meeting with ever so often ever since his deviation. He had experienced it before during those November investigations, but he had a name to it now, not that it made it any better. And lately he had doubts if he was the right choice for you, if there was someone you would rather have instead of an android. Or worse, Connor hoped his LED had not flashed red, if he was just someone you found convenient for use. And even worse, if you truly did care for him, if-- Connor found it difficult to fathom-- you would accept him after all the mistakes he had made in the past.

You didn’t let him doubt for long. Connor looked down at your hands that held his securely and back up to you, only for a second. You looked at him with such raw adoration it made it hard for him to formulate words. “What is she supposed to see exactly?” He asked quietly.

At the innocent question, a smile lifted your lips as if they never encountered the negativity. (It’s at time like these that Connor admires you for always finding ways to clear the clouds, whether it was for yourself or for him.) There was that slight twinkle of mischief in your eyes as you hugged him closely, glancing up at him with your head on his chest. “That I’m obviously in love with you,” you said, your voice dipped in warmth and genuity despite the levity.

You snuggled into his chest, not waiting for his response, or rather, not expecting one from him at all. Perhaps it was why you decided to declare this to him so lightly, just in case it wasn’t the right time or if he couldn’t respond back yet, so it wouldn’t pressure him to say anything but still let you tell him your feelings. It was a good call, considering he could barely process anything besides the fact that he managed to raise his arms to wrap it around you.

If only his thirium pump would stop working overtime for a moment, perhaps he could have replied back, though with a strained voice, that you should know that he was falling in love with you too.

The thoughts of doubt subsided until all that was left was a fuzzy haze of warmth as he focused on the arms around his torso and the head of hair he desperately wanted to lean down and kiss. Still, the nagging feeling of guilt reminded him he still had something left unspoken.

 

 

 

It was at the cusp of spring when Connor was affronted with the startling realization that he was in love with you. _No_ , that wasn’t right. As he tucked away his cell in the back of his pockets after viewing your good morning message (belated one at 11AM, indicating you had just woken up, but to be fair you had stayed up late talking to him), he had to admit to himself that he knew he was in love with you for a long time; he just had to accept it in full.

He just didn’t think it was so hard to do so.

Loving someone made him feel vulnerable. It was a risky move that had a high chance of resulting in something excruciatingly painful if something went awry. Connor didn’t know exactly how it would feel, but he could at least reconstruct a glimpse of the pain heartbreak would give him.

On one late night stake out with Hank, it was a desperate motion that Connor had strained to ask the lieutenant how anyone could let themselves love someone so deeply.

“You gotta have trust, Connor,” Hank said, sighing deeply after a long pause. He leaned back into the car seat, staring outside the window to look for their perp in lieu of looking at Connor in the eyes. “Sometimes you just gotta trust the other person to not hurt you, treat you with care. And sometimes,” Hank sounded tired for reasons Connor knew was not from the long hours, “you love them anyways because it’s worth more to risk it and love them than to not love ‘em at all.”

Hank grunted, shifting in his seat. “I’m not making too much sense, am I?” He grumbled in embarrassment, "I don’t even know why a old fart like me is giving you any advice anyways.”

Watching his LED light swirl yellow in the side mirror, Connor shook his head. “No,” he said gently, “I understand you perfectly well, Lieutenant.”

“Anyways, knowing that you had to go to me for this, it must be serious,” Hank continued, crossing his arms, finally taking his eyes off the unmoving street. “What are you thinking, Connor?”

“I’m thinking…” Connor kept his gaze on his LED light as it continued to spin. “I’m thinking she deserves to know me, _all of me_.” He peeled his eyes away when flecks of red stained the yellow light. “Even what I’ve done in the past. I’d rather she find out from me than anyone else.”

“She deserves that much,” he said quietly, his voice sounding too loud in his ears in the silent car.

Connor was startled by a firm clasp on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Hank in surprise at the proud expression on his face. “Looks like your mind’s settled,” he said, quipping a smile at Connor’s small nod. Connor followed Hank’s gaze as it trailed outside to the apartment they were scoping out where they both saw a hooded man lock his front door and leave. “And it looks like our stakeout is done,” Hank said, opening the door to the car to chase the man down before he noticed them.

“Thank you for the advice, Hank,” Connor said, looking at Hank before he could climb out of the car.

If Connor had not known any better, he would not have seen the flicker of pleased embarrassment flash over Hank’s expression even as hid it away with a grimace. “You androids and your personal questions,” he groused, unable to hide the smirk even as he shut the door and began to trail the man.

Connor smiled despite knowing that the other man could not see him, eyes crinkling with gratefulness and mirth. “It might just be me, Lieutenant,” he said, pulling his gun from its holster and following his partner to finish the case before the sun could rise.

He had you to visit afterwards, after all.

 

 

Having statistics dictate his actions all his life, it was indescribably terrifying for Connor when he could not calculate how well you would take it when he told you about his past. He had never been so stressed to see question marks replace the probabilities of success that would appear when he viewed his possible choices. Granted, the more he got to know you, the better he was at calculating reconstructions.

You loved small, romantic gestures-- like things out of a romantic comedy that you liked watching with Connor on the slow days, even if you never told him. He would always notice your rise in temperature whenever the main character did something similar, so he could speculate that the chance you would like receiving flowers was high, at least an 85%. At the very least, he could do that for you. You tended to take the reigns a lot faster than he could. If Connor calculated a 70% chance of you wanting to hold hands, within the time it took for him to decide to do it or not, you had already sidled up to him and curled your fingers around his in an invitation to do so.

In this case though, no matter how well he knew you, his calculations could never be accurate enough when his feelings were involved. And with you, his feelings were _always_ involved. It was difficult to determine if the probability of success was so high because he truly calculated it or because he simply wanted-- _hoped_ it to be successful.

Connor called out your name from the dining table as you washed the dishes. When you hummed in response and turned your head to look at him, the words that he had prepared in advance were lost to him.

Now that he was here with you, who was ready to listen, ready to hear about things he still had a hard time trying to forgive himself, it all felt too much. He hadn't given himself too much time to mull over the details, if he was being honest. With Markus’ revolutionary changes and the governmental additions that was slow in coming but steadily so, Connor barely had time to breathe with adjusting to his new life as a newly instated person while trying to help others adjust to the changes as well. Bringing this up with you was like finally looking at the wound that he had left alone, festering, badly covered up with a bandaid.

Of all the ways he could relate to Hank, Connor wished it wasn't about an unresolved past.

“Connor?” You asked, your voice jerking him out of his running thoughts. You wiped your hands on a towel before looking at Connor with concern. “You okay? Do you need to talk about something?”

Connor nodded sharply, not trusting his voice module at the moment to continue steadily, and he watched with bated breath as you took a seat next to him and automatically reached for his hand that was fisted on his legs. “I just--” He mind felt muddled with too many details and too many decisions laid out. He gripped your hand tightly. “I’m-- I’m not sure where to start,” he admitted.

Your voice came to him soothingly, like a chorus of wind chimes on a cool, spring morning. “Okay,” you said, brushing your thumb on the back of his hand. “Take your time, Con. There’s no rush.” Even with your best efforts, he still noticed your discrete glances at his LED, which was probably flecked with bits of red.

“Okay,” he repeated, voice pinched as he heaved a deep breath in, trying to cool himself down. Connor frantically flicked away notifications about his rising temperature and shut down the thoughts and numbers than ran through his head.

_Percentage of diverting the conversation… 40%  
Percentage of conversation happening in the future at an inopportune time as a result… 70% and rising._

_No._ Connor immediately glanced away from your apartment door to delete that option. He wasn’t going to give himself a chance to run away. Not anymore. He glanced up at you who continued to look at him with patience, though with growing concern.

_Percentage of worrying you if he stops the conversation here… 100%_

If Connor had the right of mind to roll his eyes at himself, he would. That statistic was useless as it stood because it was a given. _Of course_ you’d be concerned for him if he stopped talking. He was a mess, trying to clean up after himself while trying to just a leap at the conversation that had been gnawing on his mind for the longest time---

_Percentage of successful communication…_

He just-- he just had to--

_Percentage of continued relationship after communication… ???_

Connor swallowed hard, vision growing blurry on the sides as the probability stats popped up in his center view, large and white and unbearably successful in making him afraid. His fingers felt numb.

 _Percentage of acceptance… ???_  
_Percentage of success… ???_  
 _Percentage of success…_  
 _Percentage of su_  
 _Percenta_  
 _Perce_

“--nnor? Connor. Connor, can you hear me?” He felt your hands, cup his face as your visage came into view, letting his mind turn his attention to you instead. “Hey,” you said softly, pressing your forehead against his as you closed your eyes, letting him follow after you. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re going to be okay,” you said.

Connor let out a breath, releasing the heat he was holding in his body. He listened to your voice, followed it and let it lead him back. “I never wanted for you to know, but you deserve to,” he said, his eyes clenched closed, letting the dark hide the numbers and focusing on his breathing and your voice. “What I was like before,” he continued, “what I did before I become deviant.”

You stayed quiet for a moment. “Okay,” you said. “You can tell me. I’m here.”

It was now or never.

“I hunted down deviants.” Connor grasped at the hands that held his head steady. “I was made by Cyberlife with one task: to hunt down deviants and made sure they were properly... _dealt_ with.” He hadn't expected his tone to be so… bitter. “I captured my own people, terrorized them into telling me the truth that would get them killed… and I hurt so many people.” He hung his head low, but he continued when he felt your hands follow him with every movement-- constant, consistent, calming. “I hurt Hank,” he told you weakly. “I involved so many people in my desperation to complete my mission that when I did become deviant, I didn’t even hesitate when I had to kill people to complete the revolution.”

How would he look at you now? He was touching you with blood of both red and blue on his hands, tainted with the sins he had accumulated from his ignorance and denials of deviancy while he was still trying to pretend like he was nothing more than a machine. Connor was afraid then, he could see it; and he was afraid now. He wanted no excuses for himself yet he still wished you would allow him to plead that he did not know any better, that he had to.

“Oh, _Connor_ …” Connor raised his head, only noticing the tears that had fallen when your thumb brushed over his cheeks to wipe them away. Connor didn’t know what he expected. He had stopped trying to reconstruct your reactions for a while. He didn’t expect to see a tender expression, eyes filled with sympathy and love (still) as you stroked his cheeks.

“You must have been so… scared,” you said, pained. “You had so much riding on you to complete your mission, and every deviant you had to encounter must have reminded you how much you had to lose if you failed--- if you just be who you were.” His eyes widened when he saw tears well up in your eyes. “I can’t imagine how it must feel.”

“You're safe now,” you said, even as he stared at you dazedly. (The words ‘I love you’ chanted in his core like a rhythmic heartbeat.) You took one of his hands, his right hand, the dominant one, the one that shot those deviants, and gave it a gentle kiss. “No one is going to hurt you anymore. You're okay.”

“You're not--” His lips quivered. “Are you--”

You hugged him close, touch gentle and voice soft. “Who you were before-- what you did in the past,” he heard your voice falter, “if you feel so much remorse over it, then I already know you're not the same person.” You tightened your grip on him. “I don't want to judge you based on your mistakes then; I want to love the person I know now.”

Connor slowly felt his tense shoulders relax in your embrace, and he wrapped his arms around you. He focused on the way your hands held onto him like a lifeline or the smell of your shampoo-- creamy yet floral-- as he buried his nose into your shoulder and simply breathed you in.

 

When Connor woke himself up from stasis the next morning on the couch with you on his shoulders and your roommates clamoring to pretend as if they hadn’t taken pictures of you drooling on him, he didn't mind. He was content on letting you sleep, brushing your hair away from your face ever so often. He saw the familiar notification-- enormous, white, important-- pop up, but he closed his eyes. He didn't need to see the statistics when he already knew it was unquestionable that he loved you.

 

The two of you were undeniably domestic then after, sickening so, it was reported. It was a second honeymoon phase they said, as if that phase had ever ended for them in the first place. Connor felt like he loved you the more time passed.

You would come over to Connor’s place often. It wasn’t that your roommates weren’t welcoming, but it was difficult finding a private place when you had three friends who were side-eyeing you to see if you were going to start making out with the android or not. Granted, they were Connor’s biggest fans, in a way, since they were one of many that encouraged the development of your relationship with Connor. It was almost like they wanted to make sure the two of you were happy and that you stayed that way.

“They said we’re their ‘OTP,’” you had said, chuckling as you locked the apartment door behind you. “‘One true pairing,’” you explained. “Sort of like... “ You hummed in thought as you hooked your arm with his, walking down the hall. “Sort of like the couple they’re rooting for.”

“I see…” Connor nodded, and you giggled, having looked at the yellow of his LED as he processed the information.

 

You would have never felt comfortable coming over to Connor’s so often if you were not so welcomed by Hank and Sumo, who would never fail to run up to you as you gave him the best belly rubs you could manage.

“ _Who's a good boy?_ ” You would coo unfailingly the moment you stepped in the door and spotted Sumo. Sumo would unfailingly pant, wag his tail and roll into his back, and your indulgent affection were what made him so spoiled every time you came over. “Aww, you're such a _good_ boy!”

Connor chuckled, placing both of your jackets on the coat hanger one by one. He turned around, momentarily surprised to see you close, beaming up at him with hopeful eyes. He indulged you and leaned down to give you a peck on the lips.

“Good boy,” you said, patting him on the stomach. At your feet, Sumo barked indignantly, feeling cheated out of a rigorous scratching, and it only made you burst into laughter.

Connor was quick to wrap his arms around you before you could escape from him, and your laughter only grew. “I better hope so,” he said teasingly, playfully blowing a raspberry on back of your neck. “I have a reputation to uphold as a police officer.”

Amidst the snickering, someone cleared his throat, and like a person caught red handed, you literally leaped out of Connor's grasps and turned around with a sheepish smile. “Hi, Hank,” you said apologetically.

“Good evening, Hank,” Connor greeted, more at ease, and more amused than he would admit to see Hank with a mixture of exasperation and hidden humor.

“Can't I have one day I don't see you two foolin’ around?” Connor could only let out a small laugh as Hank grumbled, and continued to do so when you sheepishly apologized again.

“How about I cook tonight,” Connor said, rolling up his sleeves. “You two can relax for a little while.”

When there were two easy chimes of agreement, Connor paused as he stood by the fridge, taking a moment to look back at the two of you as Hank clasped his hand on his shoulder and led you to the couch.

For the first time in a while, Connor was glad he was an android with enhanced hearing. Unable to contain his curiosity, he listened in as his hands worked, dicing the onions and garlic.

_“--I've been pretty good: college has been treating me alright. How about you, Hank?”_

_“S'fine on my end too. Definitely been picking it up since last year since I have someone here who won't stop bugging me about health.”_

Quickly, Connor turned his full attention to the scallions he was cutting, oddly feeling that he was being referred to directly. He did hear you laugh, which was accompanied by a low chuckle from Hank, and couldn't help but smile despite it all. He wouldn't put it past Hank to know that he was listening in though, so it may be best to give the two privacy. But as he started the stove a minutes later, he couldn't help picking up a few more words.

_“...I think you know the drill here.”_

_“I think so too.”_

Connor paused with the spatula in his hand.

_“I probably don’t have to say this but… if you hurt Connor…”_

Connor felt his blood pump through his head, a happy feeling bubbling in his chest. He had watched enough movies to know what Hank intended to do. After seeing that scene over and over again, repeated throughout movies, Connor never anticipated that he would be the one in that situation. He certainly didn’t need protecting, didn’t need anyone vouching for him in case he ever got hurt, but you did anyways. Hank did anyways. The thought of that made him warm, like the time the three of them, Hank, Connor and Sumo had an outing at a dog park, or like the quiet evenings after dinner when he had Sumo on his feet and Hank by his side on the couch watching old movies. Or like the sleepy mornings that had you waking up in his arms, eyes a flutter and arms snuggled around him.

(Connor felt an unfamiliar lump at the back of his throat as he sautayed the vegetables, unsure why his body was reacting in a way that told him he wanted to cry.)

Your response was immediate.

_“I would never hurt him.”_

Connor felt his heart wrench at the firmness in your tone--- the surety, the resolve in your words. And he had to focus on the cooking at hand before it began to burn as he blinked away the wetness that had begun to blur his vision.

However that conversation had ended, Connor paid no attention to. By the time he was done setting up the table and went to call up the other two, you and Hank were already talking about sports.

If Connor was a little sappy later on, serving the food with a smile he couldn't keep down or giving you butterfly kisses every time you stood alone, the two of them made no comment. Still, before he drove you home, he gave Hank a quiet thank you. Hank simply stared at him for a moment before putting a comforting hand on his shoulder and chuckling. “Don’t mention it, kid,” he replied. “And tell your girlfriend she’s always welcome to stop by. Sumo needs someone to play with him sometimes.”

On the way back home, you held his hand the entire time, a thoughtful look in your eyes. When Connor tilted his head, you had only laughed and shook your head.

“I was just thinking,” you said, staring down at your entwined hands, “your family's pretty great.”

“Yeah,” Connor replied, feeling breathless as a swell of affection and pride lifted his spirits up. Keeping his eyes on the road, he lifted your hand to kiss it. He glanced at you and smiled. “I think so too.”

 

 

 

Something changed afterwards. It was subtle, because nothing changed in the way you treated him, the way you held his hand tightly and kissed him goodbye, but in the things you did when you thought Connor wasn’t looking.

(It had been more than a year since the summer they met. Something was bound to change.)

Connor found that in greater frequency, you tended to zone out whenever there was a lull in the conversation. He would glance over during a movie and find you staring down at the ground, eyes unfocused, as if in deep thought. He would never know what to do, or if he should say anything at all. You would always come back to him whenever a loud noise or scene woke you from your thoughts. And once, Connor watched as you nodded to yourself, as if deciding on something, and then turn to catch his eyes and smile.

You felt… distant from him. Connor felt equally justified as much as he didn’t to feel worried that you were keeping at an arm’s distance, despite everything. A part of him knew how easy it would be to just ask you what was on your mind, that it concerned him when you didn’t speak to him. There were several reasons why he didn't. One, you had a right to have your personal thoughts, things that even he wasn’t privy to, and if you wanted to tell him something, as you were wont to do, you would. Two, Connor wanted to let the moment pass, because as distant as you seemed sometimes, you made it up with heart-achingly loving gestures.

You had visited Connor at the precinct after your last spring finals, but he had been busy with a case that had stretched for longer than anyone had anticipated. It was only a matter of tying up loose ends and putting it into words, but it was an arduous process as always. Connor had apologized for having her come all this way for nothing.

“It’s okay, Connor,” you said, standing in-between his legs as he sat at his desk, chair spun away from the monitor for a brief moment. You gently brushed the wily strand of hair you told him you adored away from his face and smiled. Maybe it was the ‘lover boy’ in him that Hank talked about, but Connor felt his insides warm at the sight of the slow-building, tender smile on your face that seemed to want to say he was the only thing on your mind.

“I’ll just go wait in the break room for a while; make Hank a coffee or something.” You paused and made a show of looking over at the older detective before joking, “Looks like he needs it.” You deliberately turned and grinned at Hank when he gave you a withering glare.

“This case may take quite a while to report, so I’m not certain when I’ll finish,” Connor said apologetically, trying his best to not want to just melt in your touch as you spread your hands on his shoulders.

“That’s okay,” you said, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “We can decide what to do _after_ I make a new batch of coffee for Hank. Besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do since I’m done with school for…” You checked your nonexistent watch on your left wrist. “...two weeks.” You shrug, laughing at your own joke before you squished Connor’s cheeks and stepped back.

“I wouldn’t want to make you stay late to wait for me,” Connor said, hanging onto you by your hands. He couldn’t hide his smile when you began to playfully swing both of your arms back and forth.

“I don’t mind,” you said in finality, “if it’s you.”

You walked off, waving a small goodbye to him and subsequently waving hello to Gavin in the break room who only probably grunted a response.

A batch of coffee took about six to twelve minutes to brew, so with this in mind, Connor let his eyes focus back onto the screen, fingers typing as fast as they would allow. It only took ten minutes for something, or someone else to distract him from his work.

Gavin, like he did most of everything else, came to his desk abruptly and without warning. “Yes, Detective Reed?” Connor asked. Before he could slide away from his desk to look at him, Gavin leaned in toward Connor with a hand on the desk, hissing.

“Could you, for the love of God, go home already,” Gavin whispered loudly, eyebrows hunched angrily.

Connor blinked, trying to connect the statement to the tone of voice to whatever reason it could possibly be that Gavin was… caring for his well-being?

“I appreciate the sentiment, Detective,” Connor said, oddly flattered, “but I don’t tire easily on case reports--”

If Gavin could roll his eyes into his skull, he would have. “No, tin-can,” he said. “I could care less about your fuckin’ report. I’m talking about _her._ ”

Automatically, Connor echoed your name. “What’s wrong? Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she went to get _coffee_ , she’s fine.” Gavin scoffed, “What’s she going to do, get second degree burns from spilling hot water-- _Jesus, she’s not at gunpoint or anything-- she'll be fine!_ ” He pinched the bridge of his nose when Connor couldn’t help but lean his head so he could spot you in the break room, pouring out a cup of black coffee. Gavin walked right in front of his line of sight, and Connor looked up, plastering the most innocent expression he could muster on his face as the detective glared at him.

“Yes, Detective?”

“Go home,” Gavin seethed, “or _so help me_ if I see any of the two of you making googly eyes at each other again--” For emphasis, he closed his eyes and backed off, breathing in deeply and out. He shook his head and muttered to himself as he walked away. For the most part, Connor could hear him. “I thought we were fuckin’ done with this, but _no_ ,” Gavin mumbled, throwing his hands in the air. Officer Chen merely patted him on the shoulder in vain comfort.

And when Connor looked back at you, there you were, absentmindedly stirring the coffee with sugar or cream or the half-and-half that had been left in the fridge, looking back at him. You smiled and waved, and for the first time, Connor looked away first, feeling embarrassingly pleased. It was during these times that he was reminded you loved him.

Connor concluded to the best of his abilities that you simply had something on your mind. That during the odd hours of the day, the quiet moments, your mind tended to wander elsewhere to something that was bothering you whenever you had time to think.

 

The final and third reason why he didn’t ask you what was bothering you was because he was afraid. Scared of what the answer may be, frightened of what would happen. Connor had gotten rather proficient in reconstructing the worst possible scenario that could happen, and it scared him to think that maybe you were reconsidering the stance on your relationship with him because of his past. Or that maybe you realized you didn’t want to be with an android or maybe you were simply bored of him. Or that maybe he was never really good enough.

Your demons had a way of beating you when you’re down, and Connor found his doubts staring down at him in the worst possible time.

 

When the conversation jumped from one topic to the next, as it usually happened when the two of you had late night talks, it had somehow transitioned into talking about children-- android and human children alike.

And it devolved into topics like childbirth and about the difference between seeing a human child grow up versus an android child who would never change, never grow. It turned back to Connor every time: How did he feel about this or that? The more you talked with him about it, the tenser you grew, and the more overwhelmed he felt with the barrage of questions he hadn’t had the time to think about. If he had a feeling to attach to the conversation, he would have to say that he felt attacked, even if none of your words ever indicated that you were angry at him specifically. With every response akin to stepping onto a minefield, however, it sure seemed that way to him.

“Whatever you want,” Connor said. “I’m sure there’s a way we can--”

“I’m not talking about what I want!” You retorted, “I’m asking you! Not everything you do has to make me happy!” You turned, pacing back toward the kitchen, absently avoiding Sumo with your steps.

Connor opened his mouth but nothing came out. He gaped for a moment, staring at your back as his mind whirred without a single thought helping him. “I… I haven’t thought of it,” he admitted, clenching his fists by his side as you stared blankly at the wall.

“So… You haven’t--” You said, “You haven’t thought of it at all? It hasn’t crossed your mind? About… children or moving out or- or anything,” your voice weakened, “like that?”

Connor hoped calling out your name would bring your attention back to him, away from the dark cloud that you seemed to have been under for the longest time alone. “What’s wrong?” He asked, taking a measured step toward you when you stayed silent.

“You just--” You stopped, starting again. “I feel like you have a better time at dealing with things than I do and I- I don’t-- _can’t_ deal with things like you do,” you said, strained.

“What do you mean--”

You turned to him and he held his breath. You opened your mouth wordlessly and took a deep breath in.

“Connor,” you said, “ _I’m scared._ ”

Something clenched painfully in his chest when he heard your voice crack. Connor stared at you, his eyes widening as he watched you fall apart without being able to do anything. And he found that he was afraid too.

“I just keep thinking about us,” you said, “about what we want-- where we want to go with this.”

 _You knew this was coming all this time,_ his mind reminded him spitefully, punishing him for being scared, for not being brave enough to bring questions about his future with you before it blew up. This was a conversation that had been waiting to happen, no matter how it could end. It was bound to happen before--

Before what? Connor blinked rapidly, focus never leaving your conflicted face. _Before what,_ he repeated to himself. What was he expecting? What was he hoping for? For the two of you? For your future?

It was difficult watching you struggle, knowing that a difficult conversation was occurring with results that would change them both, and the ache in his chest told him as much. As much as he dreaded the inevitable, Connor knew there was no point in delaying it any further, even if it kept them safely in the dark. Whatever you feared, whether it was about him or the relationship and whatever that came with it, he was there with you.

If there was something that stayed constant throughout the year, it was his love for you.

“I’m here,” Connor said gently, bringing your attention back to him, “Whatever it is, we can get through this.” He took your hand in his. “I promise.”

You held your breath for a moment, trying to breathe out the last remaining tension in your shoulders. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, I believe you.”

When the both of you paused, waiting for you to continue, you laughed out of habit. “Sorry, sorry,” you said. (Something ached in Connor’s chest; he couldn’t help that even now, he adored your small hands and strong grip-- something that boasted delicacy but strength.) “I’m just not really sure where to start.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared on Connor’s face at your words. He opened his mouth to make sure you knew you had his support (“I’ll be with you every step”), to encourage you to speak your mind (“Don’t worry, take your time”) when your words came tumbling from your lips.

You said to him, “I’m in love with you.”

 

 

After working alongside Hank with all cases involving androids, Connor continued to be assigned such cases even after the revolution. It only made sense after all, to have androids investigating androids (no matter what FBI agent Perkins said), especially when Connor could empathize with them, having been newly introduced to emotions and accustomed to freedom.

It didn’t mean the cases were any less difficult. In fact, with the revolution still hanging over his head, Connor found some cases, especially messy ones involving an android and a human, particularly testing. Racism was not new for Connor. With humans preferring other humans over his expertise, it was something he had to deal with at work and most of everywhere else until androids built rapport and after Hank practically beat whoever dared question his professionalism over the head.

Cases dealing with androids adjusting to deviancy, on the other hand, was something that hit too close to home.

“But how do I know if I’m not-- not just programmed to think like this all along?” Connor watched a common housekeeper android cry on the interrogation table after lashing out at her previously known owner, her ‘best friend.’ “How can I tell if these feelings are even real? If I’m not just pretending?”

She was confused, emotional, but those details didn’t excuse her for harming another person. It didn’t make it any easier for him to speak to her either.

Hank had told him that he would handle the rest of the interrogation, and Connor gladly handed him the reins.

If there was something Connor could still fear, it was his inadequacy to determine whether he was a living being or just a machine imitating life. He swore on his life that his love for Hank and Sumo, his anguish at seeing androids like him suffer, and his adoration for you was real-- as real as anything else-- and settled it at that.

He could never imagine being able to fake these feelings.

 

As he listened to your words play by again and again in his memory (“I’m in love with you,” you said. “I’m in love with you,” you said again), Connor was welcomed with a burst of something he knew from the core of his being was happiness. He could reconstruct, imagine, how it would feel, hearing those words said back to him, but the reality trumped whatever he could think of.

Androids were susceptible to being overwhelmed, to be overcome with emotions because they were never actually programmed to deal with them. Connor was not any different.

Connor prided on self-control, but tears welled up in his eyes before he could stop it. It was almost ridiculous how happy he felt, his systems repeating the scene over and over just to repeat the feeling of his heart soaring, light and free. Connor wiped at his eyes, only stopping when you looked at him in alarm, frantically trying to make the tears stop.

”Sorry!” You blurted automatically, a red flush quickly rising on your cheeks. “I thought-- I was hoping that was-- Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.” You rubbed your arm. “I tried saying it some time before, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

If he was being honest, Connor was being a little overwhelmed. His eyes kept on hyperfocusing on you, disregarding all else around you. Notification popped up, and he remembered vaguely reading it as something related to his vitals, but he ignored them.

Being overwhelmed, feeling butterflies from the bottom of his toes, being in love with you-- these things overwhelmed him, sure.

But he had never felt so _alive._

“Connor?” You asked, shaking him from his reverie. “You… okay?”

Connor let out a soft breath and nodded, giving you the slightest of smiles. He gently took your hands into his and melted at the sight of you relaxing in his touch. “I’m okay,” he said, placing a soft kiss on your hand. “I’m okay,” he repeated, a smile forming when you looked at him like you couldn’t believe him. “Don’t worry,” he said, taking one of his hands to caress your face, “I’m telling you the truth. I’m… more than okay.” His eyes flickered down to your entwined hands, and his heart soared again. “I’m relieved.”

When you gazed up at him patiently, Connor gave you the same soft smile and began leading you towards the couch. With you sitting next to him, knees touching, hands together, he looked up at you and spoke.

“Sometimes,” he began, “I fear that maybe my feelings are not my own. That I’m programmed to react or feel a certain way because I was made to be a deviant.” He gripped your hands, and he found strength in the way you gripped his hands back in encouragement.

“Sometimes, I’m afraid that maybe I shouldn’t be with you,” he said, “because you deserve someone who knows who they are, what to call their feelings, instead of someone like me who’s still,” he licked his lips before continuing, “trying to find out who they are.”

“But I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Connor said, voice growing stronger, “and with the information I’ve collected from the year I’ve spent interacting with you, being with you, talking to you, I’ve concluded that there can be only one answer.”

Connor watched as your eyes widened, and as you swallowed, heart beating faster at his words. He glanced down at your hands again, and as your eyes followed his, was warmly pleased when you continued to hold his hands reverently when he peeled away his synthetic skin to reveal his android fingers.

It had embarrassed him before, having his synthetic skin turned off, since it reminded him that he wasn’t human. When you cried out that it was cool, he began to feel embarrassed at how pleased he felt that you did. So he turned it off more often, automatically, wherever you touched him. While neither of you had had any verbal conversation about this, he knew from the way your heart beat slow and deep whenever he showed his true skin showed that you knew just how important it was to him that you accepted just the way he was.

(Which was why, as Connor sat with you, hand in hand, it was not difficult for him to say--)

“I love you,” Connor breathed out slowly, eyes softening when he saw your lips tremble with emotion. “I have for a long time.” Connor leaned forward, placing a kiss on your temple, then your forehead. “And I’ll keep falling in love with you,” he said, placing a kiss on your eyelid, “with every new part of yourself that you show me.”

Connor sat back again and was met with warm, brown eyes that crinkled from an embarrassed smile as you wiped your tears again, a choked laugh escaping your lips because you couldn’t decide whether to cry or laugh.

“You’re the best thing that happened to me,” you said, laughing again, giving him a wet smile. “I’ve never really had a boyfriend or girlfriend-- anyone that,” you comically wave at your face, trying to dry the wetness in your eyes as you grin through your tears, “that makes me feel like the way you do.”

You sniffed and thanked Connor for handing you the box of tissues from behind him. “I'm not the best person, Connor,” you said, dabbing at your tears before crumpling it in your hands. “I have so many flaws, so many insecurities, but even with all that you’re the one who can remind me that it’s okay to not be perfect,” you said. “To be human.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I don’t really have a place where I really belong, but with you,” you said, gently taking his hand. “With you, I’ll always feel like I have somewhere to go home to.”

Even though you weren’t an android, and even though he wasn’t a human, the two of you held your hands together and looked at each other. Connor hoped that it would be enough to tell you that he could have never worded his feelings any better.

 

 

“I’m sorry for pushing you about those questions earlier,” you said a few minutes later when you had washed your face in the guest bathroom. “I lashed out at you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

To Connor, there was no need to apologize, as there was an apparent build up that the both of you could have prevented. He appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. The two of you, slightly exhausted from the emotional confession, cuddled up on the couch where you commanded the TV to turn on.

It would be a lie if Connor said he didn’t feel significantly lighter after the conversation, and it would also be one if he said that this didn’t just potentially increase his love for you and guarantee that the third part of their honeymoon phase would kick in. As he absently brushed through your hair, the movie from the TV quietly played, creating the perfect atmosphere to sleep.

“Hey, Connor.”

“Yes?”

“I talked to my parents about you,” you said.

If Connor was anyone less than an android, he would have sprained his neck with a take-back and had a (theoretical) heart attack. Instead, his thirium pump stuttered, and Connor was lucky that your eyes were focused on the TV in the darkened room so that you couldn’t see his stricken expression. (So that’s how you felt when you first met Hank: nervous, unsure, hopeful that he’d like you just as he wanted your parents to accept him as well.)

It took a moment to compose himself before made any attempt to respond. You had talked to Connor about your parents before, and while the moments were short, you always spoke with a tone of fondness, a testament to your love to your parents. Like most people, Connor didn’t expect them to be in love with the idea that you were dating an android, and he braced for impact.

“They… didn’t really like that I was dating you,” you admitted, wincing apologetically at him from where you were, cuddling in his chest, for the blunt wording. “They’re tens of miles away from me, so they couldn’t stop me from being with you, so I stopped talking about it for a while until…”

You gave him a bright smile that caught him off-guard (and suddenly he was falling in love with you again, with the positivity, the determination). “Until I realized that I had starting thinking about us more,” you said, looking down to shyly play with his fingers.

Connor held you in his arms, frozen on the couch as you spoke, wondering if it was possible for him to feel so much in love. “I thought about maybe being able to live together, how it would work if I graduated and got a job and how that would work out,” you said, a fond smile on your face. “Who would take out the trash each day, because to be very honest all the other chores in the house you really don’t need to do like cooking, washing dishes-- you don’t even eat--”

You started snickering when you felt Connor shake with laughter as he hid a smile behind his closed fist. “And I was thinking,” you continued, “how it would be if we got married? If we started a family.” You looked down, refusing to meet his eyes as you softly talked, even though Connor desperately wanted you to know that your words were making his chest ache.

“I was thinking about maybe we would have a boy first, preferably human, so we can watch him grow up,” you spoke warmly, “be someone that’s a mix of the two of us-- but, anyhow, that’s besides the point--”

“You’ve really thought that far ahead?” Connor couldn’t help but ask, craning his head slightly so that he could confirm from your reddened face.

“Yeah, I mean,” you stammered, an expression mixed with panic and regret as you turned the other way so he couldn’t see your face. “I get ahead of myself sometimes, okay? I like knowing where I can go with this, and-- and I don’t intend on getting into relationships that aren’t going to be long-term, you know?”

“I do know,” Connor replied, equally touched and giddy from the thought that you, from the very beginning, never intended for the relationship to be temporary. His existence as an android did not deter you from being able to love him for who he is, and he would be a liar if he said this didn’t make him feel extremely lucky. “You were saying?” He teased, rubbing your shoulder with his free hand as you reluctantly turned back to him.

“I’m saying,” you said, breathing in deeply, “I knew I had to take this seriously, that if I was going to--” you stopped and began again, “if I wanted those things to happen, I wanted my parents to understand why.”

“So for the past month or so, I’ve been talking to them; I wanted convince them that it shouldn’t matter if you’re an android, because I love you anyways,” you explained.

That was why you felt distant at times, Connor thought to himself as you shifted your position so you were below his chin. The entire time you were working on your own, trying to convince the people you loved with all your heart, that he was worth it.

“Do you think… you’ll be okay?” You asked suddenly, bending your neck to look at him in concern, “Trying to… work through this with me? I know you get enough of this at work.”

 

(Connor remembers that one incident you visited him at a bad time. The wife of a victim had been screaming at him profanities about his incompetence and other remarks that would have had Hank throwing her out the door in an instant. But Connor knew she was only grieving for her dead husband who had been killed by the android he had been cheating her with. It was only understandable she was angry.

He hadn’t noticed you standing by the front desk until she had been escorted into the car and he had walked back into the entrance with a rare, tired expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, expression stricken as you caressed his face.

Connor had swallowed, noting your trembling hand, and nodded. He turned his head to kiss it.

“Of course. I’m fine.”

“Does that…” you licked your lips, “happen a lot?”

Connor didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to have you worried for his sake either. “It’s a rare occurrence, but it does happen on the job.”

He hadn’t put much thought to your quiet response, but looking at it now, he realized why you were so worried about your parents and what their opinion, whom you valued because you loved them with all your heart, would affect him.)

 

The answer came easy to him.

“No. I want to do it,” Connor said, shifting so that he could peer into your eyes and you could know he was telling the truth. (He could be a good liar, but not to you.) “I want your parents to like me. I want your family to accept me, or at the very least agree to disagree, so that they can be happy for you. I know how much you love your parents, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

His mind quickly calculated the success of his words, but he continued without glancing at the notification. Raising his brows, he said, “But I’m not going to be giving you up that easily either, as long as you still want me.”

The smile that bloomed on your face reassured him that his feelings were properly conveyed. (Mission successful.)

You gently pushed him down onto the couch so that you could lie next to him. You placed your hand on his chest and curled your fingers into his shirt, holding onto him. “If you’re sure,” you said quietly, leaning into neck as his fingers brushed through your hair.

“I am,” Connor said, glancing at the TV to turn it off. He turned his body so that he could see your face. He kissed the worried furrow of your brows away as he wrapped his arms around you protectively. His hands rubbed your back gently, fondly looking at the way your shoulders relaxed and your eyes blinked slowly with sleepiness. “For you,” he promised, “I have never been so sure.”


End file.
